


Noëlle's Arabesque

by Zella11



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ballerina, Ballet, Blood and Violence, Cemeteries, Creepy, Dark, Dreams, Flashes, Fog, Gen, Grasslands, Horror, Isolation, Lakes, Lullabies, Mirrors, Music, Nightmares, apparitions - Freeform, chilling, composition, countryside, ghost story, haunted manors, haunted theatres, manors, marshes, supernatural horror, theatres
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zella11/pseuds/Zella11
Summary: A supernatural horror story of ballerina Nahla who on her journey to becoming a principle dancer faces a life altering circumstance that leads to her arrival at the infamous Miroir Manor where true horror awaits.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. Veillie de Noël

_One day I will be perfect. I will do what no else had been able to do for centuries. I will attain the unattainable._

***

 **Preface**

The old rocking chair creaked back and forth as Noëlle Beaulieu rocked slowly in her rustic wooden armchair feeling the crisp winter air filter through the open window of her isolated chalet. She hadn’t believed she would live to see another Christmas. Her legs ached with old age and her skin was stretched and weathered from years spent traveling across many distant lands over the course of her colourful life. She had turned on her music box – the one her grandmother had given her when she was just a little girl. That little thing had inspired Noëlle ever since she heard the delicate music hit her ears. She remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday.

_“Viens ici.”_

_Little four year old Noëlle trudged towards her grandmother who tucked her glossy raven coloured hair tightly behind her ears._

_“Ma jolie petite-enfante.”_

_Noëlle blushed making sure the pretty crimson coloured velvet bow in her hair stayed upright the way her mother warned her it should._

_“C’est pour toi.”_

_Noëlle had stared in awe at the little red and gold box with the frosted edging. Delicately, with fingers adorned in gems and diamonds, her grandmother lifted the box where a clear beautiful melody filtered through the air._

_“Greensleeves,” her grandmother had told her._

__

__

_Noëlle had been all but enraptured by the delicate little figurine in a pretty little tutu. The figurine was glossy and made of delicate pearl and marble. Her long legs were positioned in an elegant effortless pirouette and her hair pulled back into a sleek neat bun. Her blush pink outfit was adorned with a thin sprinkle of crystal sparkles and sewn into her outfit were pearls and gems not so different from the ones that adorned her grandmother. She spun gracefully to the delicate melody, her pointe shoes glistening with the fresh pink paint._

_“Grandmére!” Noëlle cried as she held the box delicately in her chubby hands. “C’est absolument magnifique!”_

_“Tu devrais le protéger,” her grandmother said severely._

_Noëlle nodded emphatically._

_“Oh grandmére je le ferai! Je le promets!”_

As Noëlle listened to the tune her eyes wandered over the little figurine she had looked upon with copious avidity as a child. All those years of dusting, protecting and keeping the keepsake in tiptop condition still could not prevent the hands of time from weathering it. Not so different from what time had done to her. 

_“Grandmére? Grandmére?”_

Noëlle snapped the box shut and carefully placed it on the mantlepiece beside her just as her grandchildren filed in.

“Aren’t you cold?” her eldest granddaughter asked dusting the light fluff of snow that had accumulated on her black beret. Her scarf was wrapped snugly around her throat and Noëlle watched as she quickly shuffled past the old woman to light the candle.

“Not three!” Noëlle burst out just as her eldest began lighting a match.

It was the one time of year her grandchildren came out to visit her all the way out in the mountaintop of the Swiss Alps. It was isolated and quaint. The way Noëlle liked it. Although she loved her grandchildren dearly, she was not used to the noise and bustle and disarray that came with their arrival and brief stay with her. But her age was catching up with her. She wasn’t sure she’d live long enough for them to be together by the time next Christmas came around. 

Her eldest granddaughter, Odette, sighed heavily as she lit the single candle behind her. 

“You and your superstitions,” she muttered as her two other grandsons carried in their luggage.

“It is _freezing,”_ said her youngest, Romeo, as he hauled in their luggage into the neat tidy space.

“They’re not superstitions,” Noëlle said sharply as her granddaughter pursed her lips at her.

“Yes. Of course. Sorry _grandmére.”_

Noëlle nodded stiffly as they each gathered themselves together pulling up a chair around her as they did every Christmas eve.

After they had settled in and gotten the fireplace going Noëlle noticed an empty chair beside her grandson Franz who was busy serving tea. 

“Where is Clara?” Noëlle asked sharply.

Romeo and Odette looked at each other briefly. 

“Her flight got delayed _grandmére,”_ Odette said softly. 

Noëlle sighed heavily.

“That seems to be a recurring thing.”

Romeo looked awkward as he reached for the tea in front of him.

“Not a drop was spilled, I promise,” said Franz as he lowered himself into the chair in front of her. 

Her grandchildren knew how much she valued her neatness and tidiness. Her _“OCD”_ that her contemptuous eldest liked to call it. 

Noëlle nodded stiffly as she regarded each of them closely. She was fond of Clara who had taken after Noëlle the most –lookswise. But personality wise she was her mother through and through. Capricious, ill-disciplined and unfocused. It had bothered Noëlle since the girl was a child and she had hoped that Clara would grow out of it. She was twenty one now. She should know better.

“Well, we will start without her,” Noëlle said sharply reaching for her tea. She stopped above the steaming liquid letting her aged but still sharp senses scrutinize the liquid. 

“It’s black tea,” Franz said quickly. “Half a cube of ginger, one quarter spoon of turmeric, two cloves, one cinnamon stick, and a drop of honey. Just the way you prepare it.”

He said it swiftly – having memorized the way she liked it as a child.

“Hm,” she murmured taking a sip. “It could be warmer but it will do.”

She noticed Romeo snicker as Franz frowned at the comment.

“Now what story would you like to hear this year?” she asked placing her tea down delicately on the polished wooden table.

“Well actually,” Odette started looking at her siblings. “We were hoping you could tell us a different story. Not one of the usual ones you do like the Nutcracker or Swan Lake.”

It was tradition that they had in the family for years. 

Franz nodded eagerly. 

“We’ve heard _Giselle, Coppélia,_ and _Cinderella_ so many times. Something new would be nice.”

Noëlle stiffened as she listened to her grandchildren murmur amongst each other.

“You want something new?” she murmured eyeing the little music box on her mantlepiece.

They all shook their heads eagerly as if they had been waiting decades to summon the courage to ask her such a thing.

Romeo looked up at her, his eyes flickering over to the music box she had been looking at only seconds before.

“What about the story behind that,” Romeo gestured. 

Odette nudged him sharply and she watched as Romeo frowned at her. 

“That is not a happy story,” Noëlle said more sharply than she intended.

“Well to be fair,” Odette mumbled. “Neither is _Swan Lake_ or _Giselle.”_

“Those are tragedies Odette,” she said through stiff lips. “They are meant to be sad.”

Odette went quiet as Noëlle took her time to reach for her china and take a sip from the cup.

“The story of that little ballerina is not a tragedy like _Swan Lake_ nor is it an adventure like _The Nutcracker._ It is not even a story of love past the grave like _Giselle._ It is a story of pure horror. Of an evil so inexplicable it will haunt you for many years to come.”

All three of them went silent as they stared at their grandmother. She noticed how Romeo’s gaze sparkled with interest while the other two looked appalled by her words.

The windows frosted up as the lateness of evening began to set in creating a yellow halo around their figures as the two large candles in the middle of the table created a warm but somewhat chilling ambiance. 

“How come you never told us about this story before?” Odette breathed suddenly transfixed. 

Noëlle look away. 

“Somethings you forget, somethings you try to forget, and somethings you can’t forget. I suppose with age, certain memories resurface when physical moments permit them to.”

Franz furrowed his brow.

“I don’t understand. Is this a famous story?”

Noëlle chuckled humourlessly at her grandson’s confusion. 

“No child. It is not. This is not a story one shares freely. For every one person that hears it they will carry a piece of it everywhere with them. The story doesn’t survive in your memory, you survive in its memory.”

Romeo chuckled as he listened.

“You make it sound as if its alive,” Romeo said, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

Noëlle said nothing as they looked at each other excitedly. 

“We want to hear it. Please,” Odette murmured looking up at her grandmother. 

“This is not a story of ghouls, giant spiders, and ghosts in the sheets to fulfil your lurid inventions,” Noëlle said taking another sip of her tea. “This is a rendition of a ballerina’s life. Her rise to fame. Her experiences. It is a memoir in its most basic form.”

Romeo seemed dejected when he heard this but Noëlle didn’t placate him.

“Her greatest performance,” Noëlle murmured as she watched the blazing fireplace lick the layered wood that lay below it. 

“Maybe we should wait for Clara,” Franz muttered turning to his brother. “She’d want to hear this.”

“No,” Noëlle said immediately. “We won’t wait for her. Let her come when she does. It is bad luck to keep switching from one decision to the other. We already decided we will not wait for her. Then so be it.”

Franz went quiet as the first remnants of wax from the candle began to slide down the slim waxy cylinder.

“Odette,” Noëlle murmured looking at her eldest. “Bring down that music box for me dear. _Carefully._ Yes… that’s it.”

In a flash Odette gingerly placed the aged object onto the table and delicately turned the jewelled knob on its side.

Noëlle watched as the little figurine burst out of the box as it opened, her pointe toes in position, her pale pink tutu around her, her neat bun pulled taut against her glossy scalp. The soothing tune of _Greensleeves_ filled the air as her grandchildren watched in amazement as the little figurine twirled to the rhythm of the music. 

“I’ve never seen this character from a ballet before,” Odette murmured as she watched the beautiful figurine twirl clockwise and counter-clockwise.

As the song came to a close the little figurine halted her movements gracefully as the music became gradually slower…until it was just a tick in the small room before she was lowered away in the box, the top shutting above her with a snap.

“What’s her name?” Romeo asked admiring the gems that decorated the outside of the box.

Noëlle stared blankly at the little contraption as it shimmered in the dusky candlelight.

“Her name was Nahla,” Noëlle murmured. The wind began to pick up from outside and she saw Franz stiffen as the whistling wind rattled the windows of the chalet and sent the door quivering on its hinges. The empty chair beside them shook from the weightlessness as the harsh wind found a way to permeate through the walls of the chalet. The other two turned their gaze back to her as she continued telling the story. “Her name was Nahla. And she was born to dance.”

* * *

**Chapter 1: Veillie de Noël**

Nahla groaned as she felt the knuckles in her toes crack painfully against each other.

“Nahla? Nahla?”

The girl groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, her leotard stretching tightly against her thin frail frame. She was tiny. _un petit oiseau_ as her mother used to call her.

“Ah there you are,” said Antonia, the principal dancer of _Compagnie: Fleurs de Paris Dance Academy._

She was lean and muscular as an accomplished dancer was and Nahla watched as she sauntered forward to grab her pale pink wrap from a bench in the studio. Her dirty blond hair was tied into a tight bun that caught the light as she dusted her ballet slippers and placed them into her bag.

 _“Madam Katriane_ is looking for you.”

Nahla sighed. The filtering of piano music could be heard as Antonia pushed open the doors of the studio and left Nahla alone in the spacious room.

For her little five foot two frame Nahla was already quite sculpted and competent for only sixteen years of age. The rest of her fellow dancers were in their early twenties and many had dreams to follow in the footsteps of becoming principal dancers like revered Antonia. She had been the first of their cohort to be bestowed that honour and she basked in the attention it got her. 

Nahla couldn’t stand her. Nahla was a better dancer than her and Antonia knew it too. _Everybody_ knew it.

_Ah Nahla look how beautiful you danced! Oh sweet Nahla you are going to be a star one day! Oh Nahla you were meant to be a ballerina!_

They said it all the time. The audience showered her with praise and her instructors were always the first to choose Nahla as an example for her fellow classmates.

But still. 

She had not received that invitation to become a principal dancer. It was an achievement that seemed perpetually out of reach for Nahla. She was young, this was true. But she had it. She had reached there before anyone else. She lived and breathed ballet since she was three. Her mother was a ballerina, as was her grandmother. It ran through her veins.

Nahla looked up as she heard thunder from outside the studio, the familiar sound of pouring rain hitting the window as Nahla slipped on her leggings and grabbed her coat. Her scalp burned as she unclipped the tight hair accessories she had used to pin back her strays. 

“Fine work today Nahla. As usual” said Nathaniel with a crooked smile as he passed her by. The sound of the studio doors closing behind her made her jump. 

Nahla blushed. 

Nathaniel had been her dance partner since the beginning of the year and oh was he handsome. Those delicate blond curls and forest green eyes always left Nahla breathless – especially when they brushed passed her cheek each time he lifted her for a pose. 

Nathaniel was one of the best male ballet dancers in his group. It was an honour for Nahla to work with him.

“Nate!” 

Nahla paused as Antonia pushed past her to lock lips with her boyfriend.

“There you are,” she cooed as Nathaniel returned the kiss, albeit less eagerly. “Are you ready to go?” she chirped slinging her large dance bag around her.

“Almost,” Nathaniel responded tucking a fair stray curl behind his ear. “Nahla and I still have to get through two more rehearsals before 10. Remember?”

Antonia frowned as Nahla smirked at Nate. 

“See you inside,” she added timidly as Nate smiled at her.

She could feel Antonia’s gaze drill into her back as she strode towards the main stage. 

***

As she predicted, the stage was elaborate. 

Nahla sighed happily as she took in the opulence of the set around her. An underwater rendition of _La Princesse de L’eau._ It was Nahla’s favourite ballet and she adored the music, the costumes – _everything_ about it. 

The crew were busy adjusting several props on stage as Nahla regarded them from her position in the audience seating area.

“It’s something isn’t it?”

Nahla jerked as Nate stepped up beside her. 

“Yeah,” she murmured looking into those mesmerizing eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Nate exhaled as he dropped his dance bag on one of the red velvet seats of the concert hall and tightened his canvas slippers. 

“You know you can do that backstage,” Nahla murmured as he blinked up at her.

“Nah,” he muttered switching to the other foot. “We spend so much time back there and barely any time out here. I’m just finding a balance.”

Nahla rolled her eyes at the comment as Nate chuckled. 

“Want to stretch together?”

“Here?” Nahla asked staring at the place where they stood in the centre of the aisle leading to the stage.

“Why not?” Nate shrugged as he began his stretches.

With a grin Nahla followed suit. She quickly shed her coat and her leggings and reached into her dance bag to grab her tutu. 

“You must be excited,” Nahla commented as she saw _Madame Katriane_ ordering people around on stage as _Marie_ seated herself at the piano. 

“For?” Nate asked as he used the edge of the seat beside them to bend his knees.

“For getting the role of _Prince Laurent.”_

Nate shrugged. 

“It wasn’t much of a competition.”

Nahla sighed and looked away. She wished she could be more like Nate. He knew he was the best and he was unabashed and unapologetic about it – as he should be. He said it as it was. For him it worked. But for Nahla… she could never. Assertiveness worked for males – it didn’t work for females – especially for a young ballerina like herself. 

“I’m sure you and Antonia will make a beautiful couple on stage with her as _Princesse Béatrice.”_

Nate looked at her.

“What makes you think Antonia got the part?”

Nahla scoffed.

“She’s the only principle dancer in our cohort. Of course she’s going to get the part.”

Nahla didn’t mean to sound as blunt as she did but it came out sounding quite caustic.

“Just because you’re principle dancer it doesn’t automatically mean you get the part,” Nate said softly releasing the chair in front of him.

“Ah Nahla!” _Madame Katriane_ called from the stage above them.

_“Viens ici maintenant!”_

“Duty calls.” Nate said with a wink as he turned towards the doors that led to backstage.

Nahla breathed deeply. 

Today she would find out what role she would be given in the infamous _La Princesse de L’eau Ballet._ Nahla believed she would get the role of one of the twelve sisters of _Princesse Béatrice_ – preferably the one who dances alongside her at the ball. It was the character with the second-most stage time after _Béatrice_ and also a brief solo. 

Nahla kicked her bag to the side as she slipped on her ballet shoes and adjusted the fit. 

When she was satisfied she followed Nate through the doors into the grey fluorescent lit ambiance of backstage.

The excited whispers from her fellow dancers assaulted her ears immediately as she pushed past them to hear _Madame Katriane_ announce the castings.

There was a gasp and cheer as many of the girls began to chatter and whisper excitedly to each other.

“Oh Nahla _félicitations!”_

Nahla looked around her bewildered as the girls began to circle and cheer her on. 

“Wow Nahla congratulations!”

Nahla looked in shock as she approached Madame Katrine who had a coy smile on her face.

 _“Fécilitations_ Nahla,” she said calmly handing her a thick folder. “You are our _Princesse Béatrice.”_

Nahla felt her legs turn to jelly as she took the folder from her top instructor with shaky hands. 

“You’ve been working hard,” _Madame Katriane_ said swiftly with a smile. “You earned it.”

Nahla managed a weak smile as she nodded her thank you and held the folder tightly to her chest.

It was overwhelming as the other girls began to circle around her in a ring of congratulations and cheers. It was too much for Nahla and she quickly left the ring to return to her dressing room. She’d get the private one now that she had been cast as the main character.

She felt a warm pressuring happiness engulf her as she breathed deeply -- _in and out_. She had done it. Finally. She had earned the role as the lead dancer in one of the most complex and elaborate compositions of the century. Oh her mother would be so proud of her. Nahla could just picture the celebration in her mind. 

“Congratulations Nahla.”

Nahla stiffened as Antonia leaned against the exit door leading to the stage. Immediately, the euphoria she had been feeling evaporated like snow on a windshield. 

Antonia had a plastered smile on her face as she regarded Nahla.

“You earned the part.”

Nahla frowned as she pushed past Antonia who made it deliberate to push her shoulder as she walked past.

Nahla exhaled and pushed open the door to the stage. She wouldn't let Antonia get to her. Not when she had a lead role waiting for her just beyond those doors.

She was met with the familiar smirk of her partner now co-star Nate who had already began his practice.

“Suit up _Béatrice,”_ he said with a grin. “We’ve got a play to rehearse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horror books are some of my absolute favourite genres and I'm so excited to have started a supernatural one of my own. This will be chilling and spooky with obvious paranormal themes. I hope you enjoy it x


	2. Heure du Déjeuner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsals continue and Nahla begins to feel the pressure set in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> There are some heavy themes in this chapter: bullying, and references to eating disorders and periods. Just thought I would warn beforehand.

There was nothing in the world that could compare to the exhilarating high – the magnitude of _exaltation _achieved from dancing on stage.__

Nahla wasn’t sure whether it was the caress of air across her cheek each time she twirled or the blur of her surroundings each time she shifted position. The ache in her muscles was not so much a pain anymore as much as it was a signal of what move would follow. 

The dance was truly exquisite – so elegant and powerful. It matched the tempo of the orchestra beautifully.

Nate’s hold around her waist was perfect. Sturdy. Confident. Ablaze with assurance as he lifted her into position, his hold never weakening as she stretched her limbs and closed her eyes, letting the music take her away from the Nahla she knew and usurp her into the essence of _Princesse Béatrice._

 _“En dedans,”_ said the sharp voice of _Mme Katriane._

As Nate placed her down she repeated her steps – her toes curling as she sank into her lift once again – the familiar scent of her partner engulfing her. 

_“Ouvert_ Nahla, _Ouvert!”_

Nate placed her down as _Mme Katriane_ halted Marie at the piano for what felt like the two hundredth time. 

Nahla could already sense her anger as she turned away from her partner towards her instructor. 

“Nahla,” said the older woman severely.

“I know I know,” Nahla complained smoothing down her skirt as she tapped her pointe shoes against the hardwood floor of the studio. “I wasn’t straight enough on that lift.”

Katriane paused for a moment.

“No Nahla. That wasn’t the problem,” she said softly. “Your posture is impeccable as usual and your lift was good. The problem I have is with _votre…passion.”_

Nahla caught herself in the mirror surrounding the studio as she calmed her breaths. Her thick dark eyebrows were pulled together and the blush on her cheeks did little to mask the sprinkle of freckles that covered her cheeks and nose. Something she’d have to fully conceal with makeup once she performed. Her raven coloured tresses were pulled back tight into a neat bun as she listened to her instructor muse.

“I need you to focus less on your posture and more on your character. You are not just dancing for the crowd – you are acting and performing as well. And _yes._ There is a difference between the two.”

Nahla paused as Nate grinned at her taking a drink from his water bottle.

“You won’t be wearing this for the show,” Katriane continued, adjusting the leg warmers that ran from her muscled knees to her ankles. “You’ll be in _Béatrice’s_ majestic tutu. Speaking of which, how was your fitting?”

Nahla grimaced. 

“It was good _Mme,”_ she murmured. “There’s one last round of stitching to do along the lining.”

“Yes I heard about that,” Katriane said dully. “They want to line the thing with Swarovski crystals. I told them just to do the perimeter. It will be tacky if it’s all over the bodice.”

Nahla nodded.

_“Viens ici pour un moment.”_

Nahla sauntered over elegantly. Quick as a wink, Katriane pulled her measurement tape out abruptly and wrapped it around Nahla’s tiny waist.

Katriane looked at the girl with a frown.

“You’re down again,” she murmured just so Nahla could hear. Nate had turned around to give them some privacy and continued to practice his movements behind them. 

Nahla sighed.

“No more weight loss Nahla. I mean it,” said the woman with a frown. “You don’t need to lose anymore than you already have. I can’t keep adjusting the outfit for you.”

“Yes _Mme,”_ Nahla repeated looking down.

“Alright. Let’s take this to the stage,” she said out loud gesturing for Nate and Marie the pianist to follow her out of the studio towards the performance hall.

***

Nahla joined her fellow ballerinas as she changed into a different leotard and skirt for her rehearsal on stage.

The common room was filled with a swarm of emerald green and blue – the outfits that would be worn by the twelve sisters of _Princesse Béatrice._ It was stunning, seeing the blur of colours that would grace the stage of the majestic _Bilé Centennial Hall_ in the heart of _Marseille._ Nahla’s stomach bubbled with excitement. Her début as the princesse in this performance would become a part of history. 

“Look who came to join us from the private room.”

Nahla stilled, a familiar voice filling the room.

_Not now. Not today._

Nahla ignored the jab from her fellow dancer and focused on removing her throw and adjusting the pins in her hair.

“She _finally_ graced us with her presence,” said another as the girls giggled. “I think she expects us to drop down on one knee for her since she’s a _princesse_ now.”

They continued their digs which Nahla dutifully ignored.

“Oh Nahla. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Nahla gritted her teeth.

Before her, sauntered tall, lanky Antonia who perched triumphantly against the stage door just metres away from Nahla. 

Nahla frowned as the girl stared her down, an unreadable expression on her face. In her hands was a beautiful embellished tiara that Nahla was to wear with the rest of her outfit for the final show.

“May I?” 

Nahla felt her face flush in anger.

“No you may not,” she hissed. “Put that back in my dressing room Antonia. _Now.”_

Antonia’s jaw locked with an audible snap and in seconds, she was cornering Nahla against the wall. She was looming over her, thin wisps of her honey blonde hair caressing her forehead.

“I’m just following orders Nahla,” she said in a mocking tone. “What a shame it would be if we found it didn’t fit before the show.”

Most of the other girls had filed out to the adjoining dance studio to practice – but the few that were left looked down meekly – ignoring the intimidating stare of their principal dancer as she all but caged Nahla in.

Nahla understood. It was easier to pretend what went on off stage wasn’t happening. It was an unspoken truth – a reality that they chose to ignore. The bullying – the teasing – the _mocking._ It was a staple of what they did but Nahla filtered it out most of the time. Well, as much as she could. 

“Try it _On.”_

With a mighty force, Antonia pressed the jagged tiara against Nahla’s skull sharply. 

The comb cut the flesh of her scalp with the force Antonia exerted on the delicate accessory. 

Nahla cried out in pain as Antonia shoved her hard against the door her taller frame dwarfing the petite dancer as Nahla shook in fear. 

“Listen bitch. Just because you got the part doesn’t give you the right to lock lips with my boyfriend whenever you fucking feel like it. Are we clear?”

Nahla was stunned into silence as Antonia glowered at her. 

_“Answer me.”_

“Y-Yes,” Nahla cried out. Her limbs were trembling. The pain from her scalp pricked tears at the edges of her vision.

“I’m your substitute Nahla. So if anything happens to you….rest assured I’ll be the one to _happily_ play your part.”

Nahla shook as Antonia punched her knee into her gut and wrapped her cold fingers around the girls neck.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

She shoved Nahla to the ground hard and barked for the rest of the room to clear.  
Nahla waited on the ground, curled up and still until the last of the footsteps disappeared from earshot.

When all was silent Nahla scrambled to her feet and avoided the eyes of the single dancer left cowering in the corner of the room.

She struggled to catch her breath after Antonia winded her. Carefully, she extricated the jewelled crown from her scalp and winced. A thin shimmer of blood lined the comb giving the delicate silver a chilling new addition. 

Nahla trembled and quietly padded to her private room to place the crown back on her vanity. 

“Nahla!” called the familiar voice of her instructor. “What in the world is taking so long? Please hurry it up.”

“Coming,” Nahla called out as she struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice. The door to her private room slammed shut behind her making Nahla shiver with unease.

She quickly fixed her bun and her clips in the enormous mirror in front of her and winced at the spot where the crown cut through her flesh. Thank goodness she had dark hair. The wound was not too noticeable amongst her raven tresses. 

She spotted her uneaten lunch on her table – what she was supposed to eat before her rehearsal later tonight. Nahla eyed the small pieces of sardines beside her trimmed kale on the main dish and the little cup of unsalted almonds. Just looking at the food made her stomach clench.

_She should eat. She hadn’t eaten all day. That would be the wise decision._

Carefully Nahla picked up the fork in her shaky fingers and managed a few mouthfuls of the food.

Nahla’s eyes flickered from the food back to her reflection and she felt her throat swell up. The taste disintegrated on her tastebuds and the mush turned to dust in her mouth.

In the large mirror surrounded by large expensive fluorescent lights is herself. Nahla sees her reflection but she can’t seem to recognize herself.

Her body had changed a lot in these months of gruelling practices. She was alarmingly skinny now. She could see it through her tight leotard. She _couldn’t_ afford to lose more weight. Her arms were so skinny, her ribs poked through her skin – the flesh pulled taught against her bones. Her collarbone jutted out prominently and her usually round face had taken on a more angled and hollowed shape. She felt faint more often now and her bones locked and cracked with every second step she performed. 

But Nahla couldn’t help but feel her childhood fears resurface before her eyes. 

The rolls she used to have – the relentless mockery from the kids at school, her mothers disapproving looks each time she came downstairs from her room. Her weight had troubled her since she was a child and even after all these years -- these thoughts continued to plague her. It was like a demon that was constantly lurking over her shoulder. Reminding her of what used to be – whisperings of what was no longer. 

Her smooth thighs seemed to enlarge before her eyes – flat stomach protruding out of her – thin arms inflating slowly as if it were being pumped with helium. Her neck enlarging – her _waist._

Nahla couldn’t look any longer. Like a string to a puppet she launched herself to her bathroom and stuck a finger down her throat. It was easier now after years of stimulation of her gag reflex. But it still brought tears to her eyes even as Nahla regurgitated the few spoonfuls of food she had just swallowed. The bitter taste of acid hung in her mouth as she retched a few more times into the toilet. Quickly she stepped up and flushed before walking straight back into her main dressing room. 

She was thankful for the private space. She hated having to wait for a clear bathroom to do what she needed to do.

In a flash she dumped the still very full plate of food into the garbage and made sure to lock her dressing room as she popped a couple mints in her mouth to drown out the acrid taste of vomit. 

Nahla was only _beginning_ to feel the stress of what accompanied such a coveted role in this performance and already she was falling apart. She breathed in deeply several times as the sharp sounds of Katriane’s pointe shoes on tile filtered through the air.

Nahla felt sweat trickle down from behind her ear towards her neck. She swiped it away as she headed towards the main stage door.

As she pulled her fingers away she noticed that it was not sweat but a trickle of blood that oozed from her scalp. The red liquid smeared across the pads of her fingers. 

It had been a while since Nahla had seen blood – her period had stopped for several years after her rapid weight loss and only recently had it begun to trickle back once again.

_How long had it been since her last?_

“Nahla-“

Katriane stopped when she spotted Nahla behind the stage doors, the back of her head leaning against the wall –the girl struggling to regain her breathing.

“Are you alright?”

Nahla snapped her head up. Embarrassment simmered inside of her as she straightened her posture and smoothed her skirt.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

Nahla’s voice was a little too high and she ignored the lingering glance from her instructor as she propelled herself towards the stage door. 

***

“Nahla?”

Nahla looked up into the cloudy grey eyes of the pianist.

“Are you listening to me? The dancers will enter on the second beat. Not the first.”

Nahla nodded. Her legs were aching after the gruelling rehearsal they just had.

 _“Oui Marie,”_ she said softly. “I heard you.”

“Remember, as the thirteenth sister of the family, you are to step in with six girls on the right of you and six girls on the left. You sink into your position and ease into your routine for act one.”

Nahla continued to nod her head. She had heard this many times today. She felt more like a robot now than ever. How was she supposed to “lose herself” as Katriane put it when everything around her felt so forced and monotonous?

“This story is a beautiful tragedy Nahla,” Marie continued. Her eyes had taken on that glassy expression of one that had submerged into an alternate reality.

“Beautiful _Béatrice_ had always been the favourite sister. She is ethereal and vibrant and she is _young._ Youth is something – not even all the money in the world can buy. Her sisters are jealous of her and her beauty and her kindness. She is everything they aren’t.”

Nahla watched as Marie sauntered around the stage caressing her fingers across many of the props on the massive platform. The stage lights flickered on with a loud snap making Nahla stiffen. 

_Had they always been that bright?_

_“Béatrice_ immediately catches the eye of the prince when she escapes to dance on the little island outside the castle gates. She goes there to weep and wallow in her loneliness. When the jealousy of her family members becomes too much to bear, she seeks the company of nature. The midnight butterflies, the jumping fish, the birds, the fireflies. They are there to keep her company.”

Marie’s eyes had gone wide and expressive as she played with the different lights on set as Nahla stood to the side. 

“But little did _Béatrice_ know, that _Prince Laurent_ had seen her and immediately was enraptured by her grace, her beauty, and her elegance. Each night he would wait there for her and watch as she danced an arabesque on that little island.”

Marie had gone over to one of the props backstage and laid herself against the grass-like structure. Nahla believed it was supposed to resemble a circular island of some sort but the prop was only half painted.

“There they declare their love for each other and perform a beautiful _pas de deux.”_

Nahla stifled a giggle as she watched Nate roll his eyes from behind Marie.

“But it was not _Prince Laurent’s_ choice to make. The night of _Elysium_ , when all of the royals come together to dance. He has every intention of proposing to _Béatrice_ and taking her away from her misery of a family.”

Marie sauntered over to the grand chandelier that hung above the stage, its glittering crystals reflecting the spotlight of the stage to scatter the light around like confetti on a dance floor. 

“But they had been followed one night, while they danced and confessed their love. The eldest sister of _Béatrice._ In her rage she mimics the prince’s voice the night of _Elysium_ and lures _Béatrice_ out for one last dance before his grand proposal. In those same waters where she danced for nights on end, her sister drowns her in the water before she can meet her prince.”

The sound of rushing water from the speaker erupted behind Nahla and she jerked at the sudden noise that filled the air.

“The prince is heartbroken by _Béatrice's_ absence,” Marie continued grabbing Nate’s hand and leading him to the middle of the dance floor. “Crushed with grief and angry at her betrayal he agrees to marry the eldest daughter unaware that she was the cause for the loss of his love.”

Marie walks Nate around the centre gesturing to marked positions on the floor as he nods at Marie.

“But _Béatrice_ wasn’t finished. Not yet. Unknowingly, the island where _Béatrice_ had danced was no ordinary strip of land. It was sacred land. Pure land that had been untouched by human civilisation. But when such a foul, vile crime occurs on such land, it becomes sacrilegious – cursed. With that curse came a power that was bestowed upon _Béatrice_. She was such a pure soul. An _innocent_ soul. The powers of nature took pity on her and granted her a single gift. The gift of revenge.”

Marie sauntered over to the back of the stage where she pressed a button.

Nahla looked up.

Above came a sprinkle – fluffy white flakes that shimmered and glittered in the light. 

“Snow,” Nahla whispered.

“Snow,” Marie repeated. “A signal that _Béatrice_ is near. As the thirteenth sister, she is given 12 days to exact her revenge on those who wronged her. Each day for a single sister.”

“The twelve days of Christmas,” Nate murmured raising his eyebrows in a playful manner.

“Lucky thirteen,” Nahla whispered playfully back. “Are you scared?”

Nahla didn’t mean for her voice to sound so sensual but by the way Nate’s eyes bore into hers she wondered if she overstepped her boundaries. Antonia wasn’t in sight but even so, it’s not like Nahla was doing anything wrong.

Nate walked closer to her as Marie worked on fixing the stage lights behind them.

“No,” Nate whispered, his breath brushing the back of her neck as he circled around her dramatically. “Not scared. _Terrified.”_

Nahla bit her lip to keep the goofy smile off her face as Nate brushed past her. He was so much taller than her, her shoulder just barely met his chest. 

“The snow,” Marie shrieked breaking the tension between Nahla and her costar. “The snow means she is near. That is the name of Act IV Nahla. When _Béatrice_ rises from her grave and uses the forces of nature to wreak havoc on her sisters.”

“How exactly does she do that?” Nate questioned furrowing a brow. Katriane had appeared behind him. She stood on a stool to reach his neck as she worked on fitting a particularly fancy collar onto his throat.

 _“Les Douze Mois*_ Nathaniel. She said sharply. I attached it to each of your scripts.”

“The song?” Nahla questioned. “I thought you had just attached that as part of the Christmas show.”

The performance was to take place on Christmas Eve. It was two months away. 

“No of course not,” Marie retorted, her plump face turning scarlet. “Each verse recites every signal _Béatrice_ casts on her twelve sisters. A warning of their impending death.”

_Le douzième' jour d'l'année , [the twelfth day of the year]_

_Que me donn'rez vous ma mie? [what will you give me, my love?]_

_Douze coqs chantants, [twelve singing cockerels]_

_Onze plats d'argent, [eleven silver dishes]_

_Dix pigeons blancs, [ten white pigeons]_

_Neuf bœufs cornus, [nine horned oxen]_

_Huit vaches mordants, [eight biting cows]_

_Sept moulins à vent, [seven windmills]_

_Six chiens courants, [six running dogs]_

_Cinq lapins courant par terre, [five rabbits running along the ground]_

_Quat' canards volant en l'air, [four ducks flying in the air]_

_Trois rameaux de bois, [three wooden branches]_

_Deux tourterelles, [two turtle doves]_

_Un' perdrix sole, [one lone partridge]_

_Qui va, qui vient, qui vole, [who goes, who comes, who flies]_

_Qui vole dans les bois. [who flies in the woods]_

_“Attends,”_ Nahla interjected. “What do you mean by a signal?”

“The pigeons, the silver dishes, the windmill, the doves,” Marie murmured gesturing to the props behind them. “They are all conjured by _Béatrice_ in Act V. Something special for each sister. To lure them towards the death the same way she was lured towards her own death in Act III.”

“How does the Prince feel about this?” Nate questioned, his gaze catching Nahla’s. 

“Only at the end does the prince realize that the death of each sister on the twelve days leading to Christmas were the result of _Béatrice_ when she dances for him on the day of his wedding night to her eldest sister. There are no illusions for _Béatrice's_ eldest sister of course. Oh no,” Marie murmured dimming the lights behind them. “She saved the best for last. Let her sister wallow in fear… _thinking_ her death was coming as she watched each of her siblings die with each consecutive day.”

“Do they end up together?” Nahla whispered circling around the X marked at the centre of the stage.

“Only if you believe in love beyond the grave.”

Nate’s whisper sent a shiver down Nahla’s spine and she scoffed as he brushed his fingers against the back of her neck. His playful gesture irked her more than it should have.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said through narrowed eyes.

“He kills himself to be with her.”

Katriane’s sharp voice broke through the tension in the room as Marie hummed the theme of the play on the stage. 

“So _everybody_ dies?”

Nahla’s voice sounded put out as she crossed her arms beneath the bright lights of the stage.

“Oh no Nahla,” Katriane whispered. “Not _everybody_.”

“The eldest sister lives. She lives on to tell the story. So everybody knows what she did. So she lives each waking miserable day of her life being shunned by every single person she knows. By the end of the story, she’s the one wishing for death.”

“How lovely,” Nate murmured with a lazy grin. 

Nahla frowned. 

“But enough of that now,” Katriane sniffed. She waved away Marie back to the piano as she snapped her fingers – a gesture for Nate and Nahla to take centre stage. “That will come later when we reach Act VI. For now, we need to focus on your _penché,_ the partnering lift and the _pirouette._ That will all be in the _grand pas de deux?”_

Nahla and Nate nodded as they took their position.

“Remember, you two are hopelessly in love during this Act. I want to see that passion, I want to _feel_ the tension. I want the music to be the background and your performance the climax, not the other way around. I know it’s a challenge, but you both are more than capable.”

“I like a challenge,” Nahla muttered. Nate’s fingers pressed gently into her hips, his fair locks caressing her cheek as he tilted his head forward.

“It’s not too much of a challenge,” he breathed against her ear. “At least…not for me.”

Nahla felt her face flood with heat. 

Before she could respond, Marie was back at the piano, the prelude to Act II filtering through the air. 

They continued their rehearsal far into the evening. The pain in Nahla’s joints had descended into a tugging numbing sensation and her hips were sore from the pads of Nate’s fingers pressing into them constantly. 

_“Fin.” ___

____

__

The word couldn’t have come sooner and Nahla could hear the beat of her frantic heart pumping in her ears.

Nate stepped away and turned towards Katriane who stood before them with her arms crossed.

Behind Katriane was _Gaspard Cortez,_ the coordinator of the entire performance. Nahla only noticed him now and she wondered for how long he had been standing there, watching them practice.

 _Monsieur Cortez_ had a strict, formal, snotty ambiance. His salt and pepper hair was always trimmed and teased into a neat side part and his thin lips were always in a perpetual frown. The creases of age on his face matched his stern expression and Nahla couldn’t remember a time when she had ever seen him smile. Not even when the performance of _Swan Lake_ the year before garnered critical appraise and a five star rating globally. He was never satisfied.

He had been a dancer at some point too. At least, that’s what Nahla had been told. His cold grey eyes lingered over Nahla, his brow raising ever so slightly as they transitioned over to Nate, then finally to rest on Katriane.

Katriane had been the most silent Nahla had ever heard her and she realized with a quaking heart that the woman was as nervous as she.

 _“Monsieur Cortez,”_ she said with a small bow.

“She is too skinny,” Gaspard said with a frown. “And he is too tall. Everything will be off balance.”

His thick French accent gave him an even more severe look and Nahla shivered as he lifted his nose at her in disdain.

“We cannot change it now,” Marie interjected. Nahla could tell she was scared by the way that she tugged at her sleeves when she addressed him.

“This is going to be the show of a lifetime _Madame Katriane,”_ he said crisply. He narrowed his eyes at Katriane when he spoke. He paid little heed to Marie who stood behind her. “I’ve entrusted you with the budget as well as the casting without any interception on my part. Don’t make me change my mind.”

He turned on his heel after that and walked towards the exit.

“Oh and Marie,” he drawled. “Take that mirror down please. You know it is bad luck to have one on stage.”

The door closed with a sharp click and with it came a sigh of relief from Katriane.

“You both are dismissed. Nahla. I want you to stop by my office before you leave.”

The lights began to flicker as Marie began to shut down the lights on the stage.

“What happened to you?” Nate murmured.

His expression was tight, lips pulled down. 

“What do you mean?” Nahla asked tentatively tucking her stray hairs behind her ear. “I’m fine Nate.” 

Nate came up to her and brushed his finger along her jaw. 

“Really?” He said between tight lips.

Nahla looked worriedly around her. 

_What if Antonia walked in? Nahla didn’t want to think what would happen-_

_“Nahla.”_

The sharpness in Nate’s tone brought her back and she blinked up in surprise.

“Are you listening? I asked if you trusted me.”

Nahla winced. He sounded hurt. Concerned. 

Nahla didn’t know why he cared so much in the first place. It’s not like he was in a relationship with _her._

“Of course. You’re my dance partner Nathaniel,” she said flatly. “I have to trust you.”

Nate’s lip tightened. He didn’t look pleased with her response.

“I already know you trust me as a dance partner,” he said lowly. Nahla watched as he brought his fingers away from her. On the pads of his finger were the unmistakable smears of blood.

Nahla inhaled sharply. Her wound must have bled during their rehearsal. Embarrassed, she brought her fingers to her scalp and probed gently. Her fingers were met with the same warm sticky liquid.

“It’s a shame you don’t trust me equally as a friend.”

Nate’s voice crushed her and Nahla winced when he turned away from her angrily. 

“Nate!” she called out, her voice breaking. “Nate wait. Please... don’t say anything.”

“What the fuck happened Nahla?” he said turning around before he reached the doors leading to backstage.

“It’s nothing,” she said hotly feeling her face flare.

“Right,” he scoffed. “Just like your weight loss and your fatigue right? I’m not an idiot Nahla. I spend most of my time with you. I can _feel_ it Nahla. You’re less than ninety pounds. Each time I lift you I’m afraid to put you down. Each time you lean into me I’m afraid I’m going to break you. Each time I try to talk to you I’m afraid you’ll push me away.”

Nahla bit her lip.

“We’re worried about you. All of us. And it’s not because we’re threatened by you. It’s because we care about you.”

He ran his fingers through his blond hair as he leaned against the door. 

“Don’t say anything Nate. Please,” she whispered.

She didn’t have to see his expression to know how _pissed_ he was with her response.

 _“Dammit_ Nahla. _Really?”_

“I can’t lose this part,” she shouted – failing miserably in keeping her voice down. “This is… _everything_ to me. I can’t fuck it up.”

Nate had gone quiet and Nahla knew she had hurt him. He had straight out told her he cared about her and she had gone and told him that her dance was more important. She was cruel.

“Don’t lose yourself to all of this Nahla,” he said quietly. “Some things you can’t come back from.”

The last of the lights flickered off as Nate slammed the door behind him leaving Nahla alone on the grand stage. 

Nahla knew no one was there to witness what had happened between them, but seeing the audience in front of her…an audience of empty seats made a cold prickly feeling spread through her spine. 

Almost as if people were watching them. 

The auditorium was old. Nahla believed it dated back to the 1820s. It had seen its fair share of performances – tragedies, comedies, dramas. Had seen its fair share of performers come and go. Nahla was a part of history now. She wouldn’t let a simple setback take that away from her. Even if it did sever relationships with those she cared about.

The ghost light that hung in the centre of the empty stage remained on as the other lights shut off promptly. 

Nahla sighed heavily – the fatigue hitting her hard. 

Nahla found the whole concept of the ghost light to be rather ridiculous. The stage was never kept in complete darkness not since the 1820s. A single light _always_ remained on and it was known as the ghost light to ward off spirits. A darkened theatre was a recipe for potential pitfalls such as falling through a stage floor or tripping over a prop. Practical safety as Mme Katriane had called it. Evil spirits is what _Gaspard Cortez_ called it.

Whatever it was Nahla didn’t believe in it.

“Superstitious lunatics,” she muttered as she stomped her way to the stage door.

She had to meet Katriane in her office before she went home. Dread pooled in her stomach. She had a bad feeling about what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Les Douze Mois: Originally published in de Coussemaker, Chants Populaires des Flamands de France in 1856. It provided the inspiration for the theme of Christmas in the story.


End file.
